Jump On It
by TMart37
Summary: If SVM met Dodgeball, this might be what you get...with large quantities of wine. Starring your favorite characters. With special guest star, Pam "Brass KnuckleBalls" O'Houilihan. AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

**If SVM met Dodgeball, this might be what you get...given a large quantity of wine. This is my first attempt at fanfiction/writing a short story, ever. So be gentle, talk to me sweetly and don't rush it. **

**I came across this idea last night while walking past my DVD collection. I saw the cover and thought...BILL. Oh, so many ways to torture Billy. So out of that single thought, came this story.**

**I'd like to give a special Thank You to storiesforevy. She gets me, she laughs with me and encouraged me so stop being a chicken-shit and write. So this one is for you my crazy friend.**

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><p>For the last year, I have watched from my office, Compton Company erect their ode to gaudy construction as they build what appears to be a monstrosity of a 'state of the art' fitness facility. Or at least that's what the signs say to the public. I think they took it a step too far when they placed a statue of owner Bill Compton in the middle of the colossal fountain out front. If Las Vegas procreated with Athens, Greece, while heavily drugged, this building would be their spawn. To think a deranged architect, an easily influenced contractor and Compton met one day and thought, "This is genius. If we build it they will come." Regardless of whom the 'they' are – which is seriously up for debate – it looks for the making of a very entertaining start.<p>

I had no idea Bill Compton even had a desire to open a gym. I knew of him in high school, and from what I gathered, exercising was not his forte. He had an obsession, borderline addiction, to Krispy Crème donuts. Last I heard he wanted to join the police force. Well, at least that was the rumor.

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><p>I opened my gym, my dream since high school, 4 years ago. In high school I had a 10 year plan. I needed my education, having my business fail was not an option. It was my dream, and I was going to do all that I could to succeed. So I headed to Harvard – yeah, I know, a gym? What can I say, I like numbers, I like to make money, but I don't like suits. Wall Street was not a plausible scenario.<p>

Harvard opened my eyes to a multitude of experiences, business strategies, investment plans, personal confidence, and best of all…Sookie Stackhouse. She was fucking perfection. She was sweet, shy, caring, brilliant, focused, and beautiful – she didn't know it – and funny. Somehow we managed to have the vast majority of our classes with one another. It could have had something to do with me accidently on purpose getting her class schedules ahead of time…semantics. I'm her stalker, I know it, I own it and I'm fucking good at it. My Sookie. My best friend.

We both graduated with our business degrees. She went to Harvard Law, and I headed back home to Shreveport. My grandfather had left me a sizable trust fund upon his passing the year I graduated from college, so I finally had the financial means to start my dream.

Sookie and I continued our communication via email, phone, Skype – you name it, we used it. I was bound and determined to keep our friendship even a thousand miles apart. Thankfully, Sookie felt the same way.

After graduation, when it came time for Sookie to find a firm, she decided to head to LA.

Thank fuck.

So it happens, two years ago, I hired Sookie's firm as counsel. And we've been working on our relationship/friendship/flirt fest ever since. I think Sookie is finally ready to take our friendship to the next level. Shit, at the rate we were going, I was going to be 80 years old before we had our first real date.

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><p>With a couple of days until Bill's grand opening, my gym was still going strong. Membership was on the rise. You see, with a fitness club name like Bill's House of Pleasure, I'm thinking our clientele may differ slightly. I could be wrong on that, but I'll take my chances.<p>

I received a personal invitation from Bill yesterday, for a tour of his completed facility. Why the fuck he would think I cared, much less want to take a tour makes me fear for my sanity. But I'm curious; it's worth at least a quick tour. Maybe he'll tell me the secret behind his name. I'm still shaking my head at that bang of brilliance.

I take the 100 foot walk across the busy intersection to my tour of pain. I still can't believe I'm willing venturing into this shit. Who puts a fucking statue, of themselves, in the middle of a fountain in Shreveport, Louisiana? NOBODY. With good reason, it's ridiculous.

The silver metallic double-wide automatic doors open…and what I see has rendered me immobile. WTF? This is not the same kid from high school. It's White Goodman! Bill is White Goodman? Do I hear "Apache" by Sugar Hill Gang playing? Don't get me wrong. I love the movie, Dodgeball. It's what comedy should be, it's pure entertainment. But the scene before me is horrific. It's straight out of a horror fic. You come face to face with the psychopath, your eyes darting from side to side looking for an escape. Should I make a run for it? Would I make it to the door? Should I attempt to talk my way out of death? Or should I just impale myself on psycho's machete, and get it over with?

MUST. KEEP. CONTROL. Holy shit, my eye is starting to twitch.

DON'. Freyja, Hlin, Odin, Budda – hell, Loki – give me strength.

"Hello Mr. Compton. That's an interesting statute." Pointing to the monolithic structure in the fountain.

"Isn't it amazing what can be done with a little dirt and water? Please come in, Eric. Welcome to my creation, my state of the art fitness land. And Eric…please call me Bill." _Bill?_ Not the name that springs to mind.

"Let me introduce you to, Sigebert, my consigliere." This 7ft mute is his consigliere? Who needs a consigliere?

I give Sigebert a nod and proceed to enter at my own risk. The interior is a sea of white walls and silver fixtures. Is that a bull? A massive statue of a bull is in the middle of the fucking lobby. Five minutes into this hell, and I'm ready to run. No, I can do this, I just need a distraction.

"Interesting hairstyle Goodman, I mean Bill. You just don't see feathers in male hairstyles any more. Very original."

"I know! My hairstylist, Mr. Jizz, and I have been working on making the perfect feather to hair length proportions for the last year." _Is he serious?_ He is! Shit, I'm drawing blood from my lip.

"It's been a long process but it's so worth it. When I run, it's beautiful. It has perfect bounce. You can touch it. Go ahead. It's so soft."

"Uh…no thank you. I didn't wash my hands." I'm not going to make it through the whole tour.

"Oh my God! You're right. The grease from your hands would end up weighing my hair down. Good thinking, Eric."

"I'm curious, Bill. How did you decide on your club name? I admit it's a little misleading?"

_More like fucked up._

"Research has shown that endorphins are released while exercising. Endless amounts of pleasure can be attained by working out. Exercising can give people the pleasure they so deserve." I don't think that's the 'exercise' researchers had in mind but whatever, I'm going to go with it. He's insane and absolutely serious. God help us.

"Thus, Bill's House of Pleasure. Let me show you our merchandise store. We developed a water bottle specifically designed for the active gym member. Our scientific research showed that the shape of this water bottle enabled the user to have a better grip. With strategically placed ridges, the user was less likely to drop the bottle mid-exercise."

Is he serious? It's a dick! He's fucking holding and drinking water from a penis shaped water bottle. Every member receives a dick bottle? I'm in an adult megaplex camouflaged as a fitness center.

"Does the bottle vibrate?"

"It's a water bottle. See? You hold it and drink." _Too easy._

"Are you sure there are no batteries required?"

"Are you questioning my research?"

"Only your mental faculties."

"You're sucking water from a dick."

"It's not a penis. It's a specially designed grip water bottle!"

"A dick is a dick. Why do you have Darth Vader on it?"

"It's not Darth Vader. We couldn't get the necessary licensing. It's mushroom-shaped to prevent slipping."

"I rest my case."

"You think you're clever, Northman? With your little gym across the street? With your boring equipment? And your boxed-shaped building?"

Boxed-shaped…four walls and a roof. There's a different kind of building?

"I will have you out of business by next month. You will never be able to compete against my greatness. I have the market research to prove it. No one can stop me."

"Excuse me, sir? Do you own this pleasure palace?" Who's this little guy? Did he just walk in off the street?

"Yes, I own the House of Pleasure."

"Where is your DVD collection?"

"We have various yoga DVDs. What level of fitness are you currently exercising? We have several beginner DVDs."

"Actually I'm looking for your gay porn section. I'll even take 2 guys and a girl."

"We don't sell porn videos!" _Gay porn?_ My side is cramping, I can't breathe…laughing too hard. Oh God.

"What size batteries do your vibrators take?"

"That's not a vibrator! It's a water bottle!"

"It looks like a penis." _Thank you!_

"It's a specially designed grip water bottle. This is a fitness center, not an adult megaplex."

"Okay. How much for the mushroom dick bottle?" _See!_

"Unless you wish to become a member of this exercise facility, I suggest you vacate the premises."

"Do you have a leather section?"

That's it. My vision is fuzzy, tears streaming down my face. I have to get out of here.

"Sigebert! Get this man out of here. You're going to have to be more diligent and not let these perverts in my club. Do you understand? This will ruin my business."

"Ugh. Ung uh ju ugh."

"Pardon?"

"Ugh ung uh."

"Excuse me?"

"Ugh ung uh ju!"

"What?"

"Ugh ung uh ju!"

"Damn it, man! Write it down. Here!"

" 'Yes'. All that for a 'Yes'?"

"Ugh ung un ju."

"Son of a bitch. That's it. I want you carrying paper and a pen at all times. No more Talking."

"ugh ung uh."

"What did I just tell you? Go get the moped. We have to place my plan in motion sooner than expected. Northman will go down."

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><p>"Stan, Laf…this has to be a joke. A Dodgeball tournament? Who challenges someone to a game of Dodgeball nowadays? Bill's threats are ridiculous. Who cares about his dick bottles?"<p>

Deep in thought, Lafayette says, "I don't know Eric. Have you talked to Sookie?"

"About what? Being challenged to a game of Dodgeball? Who consults their attorney about whether or not to play in a Dodgeball tournament?"

Stan, ever the opportunist, "It will give you an excuse to talk to her, even just to laugh about it."

"Excellent point."

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><p>"Hey Sooks."<p>

"Hi Eric! How are you? How can I help you today?"

"You remember Bill, right?"

Sookie chuckles, "You mean Bill's House of Pleasure? Is he still selling his dick bottles?"

"Well, you'll never believe it, but I just received a formal challenge from Bill's gym. He wants us to play in a Dodgeball tournament. Something about the victor basking in the humiliation of the loser."

_Silence._

"Hello? Sookie. Are you still there?"

"Eric…he's talking about Dodgeball…rubber balls thrown at high speeds, diving for your life?"

"Yes, I believe there are rubber balls involved."

"OMG! This is so exciting!"

"What? I'm not going to play in this tournament. I was just calling to laugh about the stupidity of it."

"Eric, this is amazing. This will be so much fun!"

"No Sookie."

"Please, Eric?"

"Hell no."

"Eric."

"A Dodgeball tournament? That has to be the single most fucked up excuse of adult physical activity known to our species! That douche wants a bunch of people to run around trying to hit one another with a fucking rubber ball. How the fuck is the victor suppose to come out this with any dignity? I think my balls will crawl back into my body. You can't be serious? This is fucking ridiculous! Absolutely not. Hell will freeze over before I agree. Hell no. Besides, I'm 6'4". How the fuck can you NOT hit me with a fucking ball? I'm like a redwood surrounded by bushes. It's suicide! Even if I bend over, I'm still taller than everyone. No way, Sookie. Not gonna happen. I have self-respect, pride and XY chromosomes. My genetic makeup prohibits my 29 year old body from participating. Just thinking about it makes my muscles cramp."

"I'll make you deal, Eric. I will train with you. One of my best friends is actually one the best dodgeballers around here. She was just inducted into the Dodgeball Hall of Fame last year. Her name is Pam O'Houilihan. But they call her Pam "Brass KnuckleBalls", she's pretty tough. She's really sweet but don't ever make fun of her Chanel suits. Coco is her God."

**A/N There you have it, my first chapter...EVER. Let me know what you think. Don't be too brutal, I'm sensitivo...with a hint of fragile.**

**Thanks.**

**TMart**


	2. This Is Gonna Hurt

**Thank you everyone for your kind reviews, your alerts and favs. You all really know how to sweet talk a girl.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my crazy imagination. Ms Harris and the geniuses of Dodgeball: a True Underdog Story get all the credit...and all the money. Lucky ducks.**

**Now with all that said, I'd like you to welcome Pamela...**

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><p>This is what peer pressure must feel like, even at 29? To be suckered… I mean, harassed… I mean, threatened with Sookie – Timeout…is completely uncalled for at this stage in my life. Yes, I have managed to regress 20 years, overnight. Those traitors, if I end up in therapy, those bastards are going to pay…physically and monetarily. No way am I claiming it on my insurance. <em>Throw a damn ball across the room…assholes.<em>

So here I stand in my club's indoor basketball court, with 4 grown men of questionable sanity, waiting to be trained in the finer aspects of Dodgeball. Why is training even necessary? How hard can it be to throw a ball and not get hit by one? What kind of coordination do you need? It seems like we could just meet 10 minutes before the game. You get that fucker, I'll take this fucker…BREAK. Done.

NOPE. Not that simple. This Pam person said there is a science to this fine art. Apparently the extreme concentration and hand-eye coordination necessary for survival can only be learned. _OK, Yoda_ - that part made me chuckle. She kept talking about the 5 D's or something. I started tuning out and ended up just placing the telephone receiver on my desk while I took a piss. Fine, whatever, if you say so woman. All I know is, Sookie will be training with us…and I got a date out of it.

A few minutes later Sookie walks in, wearing tiny shorts I might add, with…a soccer mom? We have another member of the team? How is this person going to play - excuse me, _train _– wearing a cardigan sweater and loafers? And where are the dodge balls? And why does she have a tool box? _Interesting._

"Hey, Sookie." She looks so good.

"Hi guys! This is Pam. She was just inducted into the Dodgeball Hall of Fame last year. She's going to help us train for the tournament."

Stan, pointing to Pam and looking at her loafers, "Is this person serious?"

In an octave so low and flat, you would think she was channeling Barry White, Pam replies, "I ain't crazy, and I ain't a guy. I'm Pam O'Houlihan, and I'm your coach. I'm just kidding. I really am crazy."

SILENCE.

Soccer mom is a guy?

"Uh, okay. I'm Eric. This is Stan, Laf, Clancy and Appius." Everyone nods to Pam, afraid to speak. _Very wise._

"Well, isn't this promising. You say we only have a week to train before the tournament? Hmm, I might have to take an aggressive approach to your training. Is everyone current on their tetanus shot?" _What?_ We need immunizations to play dodgeball?

"Everyone, you should think as dodgeball as Darwinism at its best. Only the strong survive. The weak are crushed. By the time you finish your week of training, your sense of self-preservation will be instinctive. There will be no hesitation. In this game, it's either KILL or be KILLED." Wait, I'm confused. Are we still talking about dodgeball?

"Dodgeball is exactly like life, you have to grab it by the balls…and sometimes you just have to squeeze." _Holy Shit!_

"I'm kind of afraid. " Yes, Stan that is a correct assessment.

"You will be. You…will…be." Damn she's scary.

"To expedite your training, I brought my tool box." _Huh?_

"The basic principles of dodgeball can be summed up by the 5 D's. Dodge, Duck, Dip, Dive and…Dodge."

"Why is 'Dodge' listed twice?" Jesus Christ, Stan! Shut the fuck up. She's opening her tool box.

"Because…when I throw 2 screwdrivers at you, you better double-dodge."

"Screwdrivers?" Stan will never learn and may die in the process.

"See." She just fucking threw a screwdriver!

"You're going to throw screwdrivers at us? I signed up for balls." For the love of God, Laf.

"Yeah, me too. If I aim correctly, I might just get both of them." I can't risk my balls for this shit! Sookie has to have my babies…which I will fill her in on later. Pam is a …sadist? Sadomasochist? Or is she just plain nuts?

"Pam, is this the safest method of training?" I can't believe I just asked that question.

"I like to prepare for worst case scenarios."

"But screwdrivers?"

"Oh, no. The tools are just for my enjoyment."

"Excuse me for a moment."

"Sookie! Were you aware of Pam's training techniques? I use the word '_technique_' very loosely here. You have some esplaining to do."

"Of course I didn't know, Eric! I only watched her in games. I'm sorry. I didn't think to ask what fucking tools she planned on using to throw at us. But I need to make a reminder to update my tetanus shot." That's it! She owes me 2 dates now.

"Alright girls! Let's see what you got. Stand against the wall and spread out." I can't remember why I agreed to this shit.

"Appius! What the hell are you doing? I'm not a cop. Does it look like I want to frisk your old ass?" We'll need to notify his next of kin.

"Remember the object of the game is NOT to get hit. Today's object is to survive for another day."

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><p>Not even 5 minutes into our slaughter and Clancy is down. Fuck. Shit, here comes Pam.<p>

"Clancy, it's just a flash wound."

"Pam, the fucking screwdriver is imbedded into my thigh!"

"Oh, it's just a tiny screwdriver. Pussy." To her credit, it is a small screwdriver. A band-aid, some antibiotic ointment, and he should be good to go.

The next 45 minutes was a fight for our lives. Seeing the screwdrivers in the wall behind us was a little disconcerting. However, Pam said what didn't kill us would make us stronger. Never has an adage held so much meaning until now.

"Hey, Pam?"

"Yes, Goldilocks?" _Bitch._

"Are you purposely aiming at Stan's head?"

"Yes. I will continue to do so until he figures it out or his head begins to swell." Safer to just away while I still can.

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><p>On Tuesday, we switched to rubber balls to our delight. Pam was nice enough to inform us she'd start throwing pliers if we fucked up in any capacity. How sweet. Poor Appius seemed to have difficulty with his lack of aggression. To our horror, Pam rectified that situation fucking fast.<p>

"Appius? You realize you need to put force behind your throws, correct? You can't have the ball bounce a few times and hope the other player trips on it, now can you?" Appius, it's a trap!

"I guess I don't have an aggressive personality."

"This is a game of survival, Appius. You have to get in there, you have to get mean!" She just fucking junk punched him! Oh fuck! MAN DOWN! Stay down man, don't get up, don't make eye contact.

"Just remember…my fist was the ball."

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><p>The next day, it was decided we needed a team name for our uniforms. I was strongly opposed to having any sort of memorabilia commemorating this event. Once again peer pressure stuck it's nosy ass in my business. I'm upping their membership dues…traitors. I can't wait for my first therapy session.<p>

"Did everyone come up with at least one suggestion for a team name?" No…and I'm doubling your membership dues, Stan.

"What do you think of 'Hard Targets'?" I don't think that applies to us, Laf.

"How about 'Don't Stop Ballieving'?" Nice try Appius, dare to dream.

"I like 'The Dodgefathers'." I wonder if the infection in Clancy's thigh spread to his brain. I think that name implies a killer instinct existed to some degree. We're on the other side of the spectrum – way, way on the other side.

"I have some ideas." Pam…this should be interesting.

"Let's hear them." Stan, you brown-noser.

"How about 'Sitting Ducks'?" I can see that one applying to us.

"'Not In the Face'?" Oh, yeah, that would be very helpful for our opposing team. It would save time from us having to ask them.

"'Balls and Wieners'?" I'm not wearing a shirt with that shit on it.

"'Pam's Bitches'?" Very true.

"This one is my personal favorite. How about 'We're Aiming For the Fat One…'?" We might go to hell for that one.

Stan laughs to Pam, "Do you think we could get away with it?"

"I have one. How about 'Picked Last'?" I can think of perfect times to wear that shirt. I like it.

"Maybe should have a name close to our hearts…'If You Can Dodge A Screwdriver…'?" Everyone nods in agreement.

"Yeah, that's a good one, Sookie."

"Well guys, Bill decided to hang his team name out in front of his gym about 30 minutes ago, promoting the tournament. It's actually kind of fitting given the name of his fitness club. I personally think it should be his slogan, place it on all of his dick bottles."

Sookie laughs, "Bill and his dick bottles. What's the name, Eric?"

"'Go Balls Deep.'" It's so fucked up. I can't stop laughing. God, my side hurts again. We got to appreciate Bill for something.

We decide, after our Team Name meeting, to meet Friday night at the bar down the street for some bonding before Saturday's tournament. God knows I'll need a drink or 5. _Fucking Dodgeball tournament._

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><p>I don't know what's more depressing, needing alcohol or knowing I have to shove what little dignity I have out the door tomorrow morning. I hope my family never finds out. Thank goodness they live in another state a thousand miles away. Oh, the fucking humiliation. Maybe I can fake an injury. I can get a cramp on the treadmill. I can trip down the stairs. We only have two steps out in front of my gym but I can make it work. I don't want to fucking participate in this fucking tournament, but I also don't want to get my ass handed to me by getting smacked by a ball. This is what I get for opening Pandora's Box. Only various degrees of bad shit can happen now. Oh that's right, I forgot, I got 2 dates out of dignity sacrifice. Maybe I should add that to my uniform…"I got 2 dates out of this". Fuck that, I'll add it even if I have to get a sharpie to put it on.<p>

Enough of self-loathing, time to meet the team for drinks, and hope I end up in the emergency room overnight.

"Hey guys. What are you drinking?"

"Coke."

"Water."

"Tea."

"Coffee."

"Diet Coke."

"I'll take two shots of Tequila, a shot of Jagermeister and a beer, please."

"Is that wise, Eric?"

"Oh, yeah. After all that, I'll only drink beer. I'll be great."

"Does anyone know anything about Bill's team?" Thanks for looking out for us, Pam. She's not so bad.

Well, look at that, my vision is a little fuzzy.

"I heard they have a consultant/ coach/ mentor. Some guy named Felipe De Castro. He's some Spanish Dodgeball badass. He took Spain by storm and decided to conquer the states. Apparently, he has a thing for Zorro. He has a cape, too. On special occasions, he busts out his mask. Maybe we'll get lucky tomorrow. He brought his dog, Victor Madden, with him. The guy is twisted. They say he's a pervert but only has one ball. Something about a wooden stake and a door knob, I don't know what that means. Clancy said Sigebert and his twin brother are going to play. Wybert has two lazy eyes, so we have that going for us. I think they got the VISA worked out on their secret weapon. The rumor is she has XXY chromosomes. I guess we'll wait and see what that looks like tomorrow as well. Their last team member is Andre LeClerq. Now, this guy is a freak. The word I got from one of the members at House of Pleasure is that he has a David Chappelle obsession. He dresses up like Chappelle's Rick James impersonation…man heels and all. I'm excited to see his routine. I hear it's pretty good."

Well, well, Stanny Boy has been very productive this week. Why are there two Sookie people? When did she get a sister? Where did I put that sharpie? I do have big feet! Stan looks like a young nerdy Dwight Yoakam. I wonder if he can sing, too. Oh, look who just walked into the bar…Mr. Goodman and his consigliere friend. Why does Sigebert have a dry erase board around his neck?

"Sick him, Pam!" Oops. That wasn't my inside voice. There's my other beer.

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><p><strong>AN So we got a sneek peek at Bill's team members. They sound...interesting. **

**Next, Pam gets to meet Bill face-to-face. **

**Sometimes, it's just not safe to get out of bed in the morning.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**TMart**


	3. Close Encounters Of A Different Kind

**Thanks everyone for reviewing, reading, alerting and favs. I hope you are enjoying the ride. Special Thank You Evy.**

**Disclaimer: How depressing, I own nothing…still. Ms. Harris, Dodgeball wonder people, and Dave Chappelle get all the glory and money.**

**Now let us have a drink…**

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><p>When you consume significant quantities of very strong alcoholic beverages in an extremely short span of time, you get fucked up real quick. Then, compound that with the fact you hadn't ingested any food in 6 hours…the party starts getting interesting even faster. Note to self – drunken state distorts your perception of reality just a wee bit at any age. I'll have to remember that one for next time. Which will most likely be after the fucking game tomorrow. However, I will be eternally grateful for Sookie keeping me on a short leash this evening, thus prohibiting me from making a total ass of myself. Yes, tonight I am happy to be a spectator in the festivities.<p>

You couldn't have timed Bill's entrance any better. The Sugar Hill Gang was actually playing on the speaker system this time. Which I found incredibly amusing, it made me want to dance. That "Apache" song has a good beat to it. I could have sworn Bill put a little hip action into his prance. Sookie kept whisper, "Jump on it. Jump on it." She's fucking hilarious. This just might turn out to be a good night.

Just then, Pam's head snaps to Bill and his entourage of…men? Remember when you were young, watching Sesame Street, or maybe it was the Muppet Show – something along those lines, I think. I'm currently looking at what appears to be a 6th finger on my right-hand, so I'm having some technical difficulties at the moment. Anyways, remember the lesson on the show when they ask you to find what object doesn't match with the others? Well, Mr. Compton seems to have this exact situation occurring in his gaggle of associates. A person of questionable genetic decent sauntered up right behind him. Is it a man? Is it a woman? I'm going for door #3…it's an IT. What's that on its chin? That doesn't look like a mole?

"Hey, Pam?" Damn, I whisper loud.

"What's that on its chin?"

"Eric, how the fuck do I know? Do I look like a geneticist? That thing looks like the missing link. Or possibly Steven Tyler's sibling."

She's right, it does look like Steven Tyler…in a feminine way…somewhat. _Uh._

"Hello, Bill. How are you this evening?"

"Eric. You seem a little different tonight?"

"Oh. I'm hoping to make it to the emergency room later." What? It's true.

"Mr. Compton, I'm Pam O'Houlihan. I've heard many _interesting _things about you."

"I can't say the same, Ms. O'Houlihan."

"Well, aren't I the lucky one." Now would be a good time to run, Bill. It's just a suggestion based on a week of experience. But whatever, I'm going to drink my beer.

"I'll introduce you to my team." _Thank God!_ Yes, Pam, this is your team. I just own the gym, pay for the uniforms, and order beer.

"You know Eric. This is Sookie, Stan, Appius, Clancy and Lafayette."

"Charmed."

"Let me introduce you to my Dream Team."

"These are the twins of destruction…Sigebert…"

"Nice dry erase board." He wrote 'Thank You'. He's a funny beast.

"Lovely penmanship, Sigebert."

"And his twin…Wybert." They weren't exaggerating about the lazy eyes.

"I'm just going to pick an eye and talk to it." I was thinking the same thing, Pam.

"Next, from the secret confines of Southeastern Europe, we have Lorena Stavilonskivitdavihcky." Now that's an awful secret. Come to think of it, it looks more like a nipple under her cleft chin.

"Something went horribly wrong in that science experiment." My thoughts exactly, Pam.

"She looks like Vera De Milo." Damn it, I forgot to use my inside voice again.

"Who?" Stan, you shame me.

"You know, that body-builder pseudo-woman character Jim Carrey played on In Living Color."

"Holy Shit! You're right, Eric!" I knew I loved you for a reason, Sookie. Aside from your amazing body, those beautiful full lips, the face of an angel, soft silky hair…

"This gentleman is our consultant and Dodgeball extraordinaire, Felipe De Castro."

"Pamilla, I'b heard menie good tings about tu." _What did he say?_

"Fancy cape. Why do you have a large 'Z' on it?"

"Maybe I cho you later."

"Also with us is Felipe's second in command, Victor Madden." He's second in command of what? Holding the balls? Sorry to burst your bubble, Victor, but in the states we call that a waterboy.

"Pleasure to meet you." Holy Fuck. I nickname you…Dolphin Caller. I didn't know a human's voice could get so high. It must be because of the one testicle. Maybe the door knob damaged more than they thought.

Victor leers at Laf, "Oooooo, sexual chocolate." I think I just threw up in my mouth. No, no, no…Laf doesn't look pleased.

"And last, but certainly by no means least, our beloved Andre LeClerq." He wearing man heels and ruffles…pirate?

"I'm Rick James, BITCH!" Dave Chappelle! Okay, a very pale Dave. Damn, that boy's got talent!

Andre looks to Laf, "Oh, DARKNESS." He did not just go Charlie Murphy on his ass? Well, isn't Lafayette the popular one tonight? But it's still fucking funny.

"Look you creepy little fuckers…" You tell them Laf! I need another beer. This is some good entertainment.

"I wish I had more hands, so I could give those titties four thumbs down." I'm chocking on my beer. Clancy and Appius have Laf pinned to his chair. I need to get them some beer, too.

"Bill! Fuck yo couch, buy a new one you rich motherfucker! What am I gonna do about my legs?" I think I like this guy. He just keeps it coming.

"Shut up, Andre! Stand there and be quiet or I'll give your Chappelle DVD collection to Sigebert's Chihuahua!"

"That's cold-blooded." I agree.

"Now that we've met your gang of misfits, what are you doing here, Bill?"

"We just came in to relax, Pam."

"White, I didn't realize Batman costumes came in your size. Is that padding?"

"My name is Bill, not White. Yes, there is some slight padding in the shoulders…perhaps a little in my chest and buttock areas. My hairstylist, Mr. Jizz, said the shoulder padding was necessary in order to accentuate my jaw-line. This is crucial to maintaining the correct feather to hair length proportions, Pamela."

"Mr. Jizz? Really? Have you ever watched Charlie's Angels?"

"I don't understand the question."

"Farrah Fawcett."

"No, I'm Bill."

"I know."

"That's what I said."

"I know you know. That's what I'm saying."

"I know that you know that I know you know I know."

"Okay."

"Touche."

What the fuck just happened? I know it can't be the alcohol. Everyone has the same confused look on their face. Sigebert even wrote, "Huh?"

"Pam!"

"What Sookie?"

"Maybe we should just head out now. We need to get some rest. Eric has had enough to drink already."

_WHAT?_ Is it too much to ask to get my stomach pumped tonight? The ER is only 5 minutes away. Give me a couple more shots. A nice overnight stay is all I'm asking. I thought we had something special! Everyone is a traitor. I want 3 dates now, damn it.

"Fine. Bill, we'll see you and your cretins tomorrow."

* * *

><p>When we get outside, there's a line of 6 mopeds parked by the entrance, almost like a motorcycle gang. I say almost because they're fucking white mopeds with flames on the sides. I'd start laughing, if I didn't feel so sick. In fact, I think I am sick.<p>

Mid-puke I hear a shriek, and unfortunately for the moped owner, I turn my head and spray a nice even layer of vomit on the side of it. _Sorry. _But really, who the fuck makes loud, high-pitched noises near a nauseous person? That's just asking for trouble.

"You threw up on my bike!" Two points for me. Zero for Bill. He looks upset. I deserve a pat on the back. I would like to thank the Academy…

"Did you just spill your motherfucking drink on my fucking Chanel tweed pink blush jacket, cocksucker?"

"What?"

"I asked you a question, Fronzie!" She just bitch slapped him! TWICE!

"How dare you slap me, you last season wearing Chanel hussy!" _Uh-oh._

SLAP! SLAP!

Wow. Sookie wasn't exaggerating about the whole Chanel thing. I can understand her anger. I get rather hostile when my DVR doesn't properly record the Japanese Iron Chef episodes. Who knew you could or would want to cook Anglerfish 10 different ways?

"You split my lip! Nobody makes me bleed my own blood. NOBODY!" Is he crying?

"Andre!" Andre, your first mistake was stopping to answer Pam. Live and learn, man.

"Pam."

"I forgot to ask you. What did the five fingers say to the face?"

SLAP!

I think Pam just found a new friend.

"UNITY!"

None of us know quite what to make of what has transpired in the last five minutes. We're standing around, watching the "Go Balls Deep" team jump – well, hop would be more accurate – onto their mopeds. Their poor little engines revving at full power trying to carry their asses as fast as possible. We watch Felipe's cape flying in the wind as they simultaneously flick us off. Impressive exit.

Tomorrow will be a fitting end to a fucked up week. I was so damn close to making it to the ER, too. Damn it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Here's to human interaction…and small gene pools.**

**Up next – the tournament begins. Let's get ready to rubble.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**TMart**


	4. Tournament Part 1

**I apologize for my delayed update. Who knew my children's school could cram so many activities in such a short span of time? Amazing. Combine it with the busiest two weeks of work, equals my story on the back burner. However, I did witness a school of elementary children mimic an audience at an AC/DC concert. The school called the event the Fall Festival. I called it 4 hours of children under 11, high on massive amounts of sugar, dancing (have you ever seen a 10 yr old do the worm to Party Anthem?) while the DJ rocked it out, singing karaoke, while dunking their principal, vice principal, fire fighters and high school students in water. It was intense. The funniest part, they put ME in charge of tickets sales for the whole darn thing. Oh, the power. LOL**

**But that's life. I'm sorry this update took so long. If it happens again, I'll blame my kids.**

**Disclaimer: I pretty positive I don't own a damn thing. Ms. Harris and Dodgeball's movie execs get to sleep in the piles of cash.**

**So on with the show.**

**"We who are about to die, salute you…"**

* * *

><p>Waking up in Sookie's bed was so worth my sad, failed attempt at visiting the emergency room. However, I was too incapacitated to fully enjoy the experience. She did change me out of my vomit clothes, cleaned me up, and I got to cuddle with her. <em>HA. <em>So worth the pain of my hangover induced headache this morning. _Smirking._

Now, it's time for that God forsaken sorry excuse of lateral movement…absurdly referred to as …the dodgeball tournament. Let the humiliation begin. Yeah, I'm pouting. So. You try dragging your ass to a place you are absolutely certain any remaining shred of dignity will be eradicated. God, please don't let pull a muscle during the fucking game. I couldn't come back from that one. I know some asshole is going to have a camera. Everyone has a video recorder nowadays. Can you imagine the amount of video and photographic evidence of today's events? SON OF A BITCH! I knew I should have prepared a disguise. I was a drag queen a few years ago. I wonder if I can go home and find that wig real quick. I think it was some weird shade of red. It might match the uniforms. Maybe I should call Laf and see what he thinks? Damn it, never mind, I don't think Sookie will agree to let us do a drive-by.

"Eric Godric Northman! Stop whimpering and get your tight ass downstairs, and in the car this instant!" _I don't whimper._

I don't want to go. And I can pout if I want to, damn it. It's my God given right. I don't know if 3 dates are going to be enough. Well, maybe, I guess she did make me my 'super-Top Secret-no-on-knows-I-like' Mickey Mouse shaped blueberry pancakes this morning. I still find it amazing that those pancakes are still my favorite even after getting tossed into the Disney World slammer. To this day I maintain my innocence. Fucking Duck started it.

"Fine, I'll get into the car."

* * *

><p>We drive the 15 minutes to an indoor football arena near downtown Shreveport. For some reason, probably denial, I assumed our game would be held at some random high school gym. Do we really need all that space? How many fucking rubber balls are involved? An arena, really? Yep, that should have been my first clue. I should have known better. I've been wrong about almost everything pertaining to this obscene event all week. Figures.<p>

This building is fucking huge and there's a shitload of vehicles in the parking lot. This can't be good. For the love of God, please tell me there is a craft show nearby. I think I smell kettle corn. Does that lady have a quilt? They can't be here for the dodgeball tournament. There's no way. That's way too many witnesses. _Holy Shit._

I turn to Sookie, "Sookie."

"Yes?" She giggles. Oh, funny?

"Four dates and serious groping; I expect to be used and abused. I'm talking borderline felony charges."

I exit the car glaring at the evil woman.

"Sookie, did you just touch my ass?" _Good._

As I stand in front of this building, awaiting my doom, I begin to reflect on the events that have transpired this week. I've been shocked more times than I can remember. I'm actually waiting for my first chest pains to begin. Where the hell is the aspirin? I knew I should have started daily doses on Monday.

* * *

><p>We walk towards the entrance, sadly, towards the roaring of the crowds looking for our brethren. Oh, there are our fellow "Pam's Bitches", looking suspiciously too eager for my liking.<p>

Our uniforms are navy blue, so we compromised on the team name. And frankly, I do feel like a bitch at the moment.

"Hey guys. Are you ready to do this?" Stan, if I didn't find your geeky exterior offensive at this very moment, I would slowly beat the shit out of you.

"Hell yeah!" Bastards, all of you.

As we enter the building, I can hear trumpets, drums and…flutes? Is there a band? An orchestra?

"Do you hear trumpets playing?" Now we're all looking around, in total confusion, trying to locate the band. My gut was telling me to mentally prepare myself or the first therapy session was going to cost that therapist dearly. Damn, I must be psychic.

No band. Do you know why a band is not present? They didn't exist in the Roman Era!

Bill has somehow managed to recreate the Roman Coliseum within the confines of the building. _That son of a motherless goat_. We're no longer in a football arena. We're in a recreation of the Flavius Amphitheatre, wild beats included. Yes, sir, the maniac procured lions, tigers, leopards, a giraffe, and even a fucking elephant. Hey, are those spider monkeys?

Fuck this shit. Four dates my ass! We're going straight to engagement. I _think _I may have purchased a ring a couple of years ago. Luckily, her ring size has not changed, I checked.

"This is like a Personal Injury attorney's wet dream. The amount of possible liability issues is astounding. Of course that would explain the little Roman guy handing out business cards at the entrance." We all nod our heads at Sookie's statement.

"But at least some of the wild animals are in wooden cages. Very authentic." Poor Appius, he's not coloring with a full box of crayons this morning.

"That's lovely. Remind me to duck when the wooden stake projectiles fly through the air as Simba escapes." Pam makes an astute observation, duly noted.

"Let's take a look. It sounds like an event is about to start. The tournament is not scheduled to begin for another 30 minutes. We need to get familiar with the court; and check out the opposing teams." You first, Pam.

* * *

><p>Who are those two men with swords on the arena floor? Why are there lions on the arena floor? Is that Bill in the box seats dressed like Caesar?<p>

"We who are about to die, salute you." Gladiators. Gladiators? Those crazy bastards are going to kill each other? How do you get a fucking permit for this shit? Fuck! I forgot to record Iron Chef.

* * *

><p><strong>AN The Corp I work for has season tickets to our NBA team. We have great seats; they almost make us feel appreciated. For the life of me, I can't remember who played that game or whether we won or lost. However, I do remember half time. The dancers/cheerleader people were performing their routine to Sugar Hill Gang's, "Apache". But what happened to be the most entertaining part of half time was the guy sitting in the section below us dancing to the same song with a huge glass filled with beer. That mother out danced those women, half drunk and never once spilled his beer. NOW THAT'S TALENT! LOL**

**Up next...more tournament!**

**Thanks again for reading, reviewing, alerting and favs.**

**TMart**


	5. Tournament Part 2

**Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. Your reviews are hilarious.**

**I had parent/teacher conferences today for my children. My youngest child's teacher laughed so hard when she showed me a story he wrote about me having to bribe him with an ICEE so he would go with me as we took my oldest child and his friend to the movies. Yes, he actually used the word 'bribe'. Like I tell my kids, THIS is why lions eat their young.**

**Disclaimer: Ms. Harris and Dodgeball people own it all. However, if you wish to send me a blank check, I'll send you my address.**

**"It's going to get a little messy in here…"**

* * *

><p>I don't consider myself old or easily spooked. I don't get light-headed at the sight of my own blood. I can ride the constant spinning rollercoasters that prohibit most people from walking a straight line once they step off said ride and then cause them to vomit in every direction as they exit. I've been on a fishing boat during a storm, managing to not puke my brains out. I enjoy action, violence and horror just as much as the next guy. I own the required male cinema – Die Hard movies, Indiana Jones set, Hitman, Lord of War, and every Tom Clancy book-based movie. I have the original Star Wars Trilogy and I wasn't completely disturbed by Jabba the Hut, even though it was fucking nasty. I sat through The Exorcist…TWICE! Yeah, so I slept with the light on and it fucked with my sleeping for a week, but I got through it. I'll admit I can no longer walk outside during a foggy evening without getting paranoid and finding the need to pray or dowse myself in holy water. Whatever, I'll discuss it at therapy next week. It's okay. Come to think of it, I own the History Channel's documentary on the Last Stand of the 300. Shit, I even own the movie 300. Sookie appreciated the 'cinematography' a little too much for my liking, but it was good entertainment. I felt the need to get a sword and kick some ass, too…even if it was in slow motion.<p>

However, _THIS_, what we just walked into…this might be epic. Baring witness to real blood and violence combined with a heavy dose of stupidity with a side of lion just kicks up the fucked-up factor exponentially. It's not even 10am. I haven't completely digested my pancakes, and I've only had one cup of coffee. If Toga Bill was not currently jumping up and down like a toddler without a pull-up needing to take a piss, while surrounded by little spider monkeys wearing mini togas while eating grapes, I'd turn around and exit the building right now.

But on a side note…where the _FUCK_ did all these people some from? I don't recall seeing one ounce of advertising for this tournament. (For the record, I really hate calling it a tournament. But I can't keep calling it 'crap' or 'shit' anymore. ) Of course, I wasn't looking for a poster in the grocery store window informing the metropolitan area of the upcoming gladiator battle followed by idiots playing games of dodgeball, either. _Shaking my head._

"Sookie, if this shit gets really fucked up in the next few minutes, would we be considered accessories? Or would we just have to testify during the murder trial? I mean, I want to watch this train wreck just like the other thousand or so ethically challenged individuals currently present, but I'm busy on Monday, and I don't have time for questioning or a possible arrangement."

"Eric, if those dumbasses want to do mankind a favor by taking themselves out of the reproductive population, who are we to deny them. Besides, we can just chalk this up to pure stupidity. The judge might consider it a mercy killing."

"Sookie, do me a favor. Here's the sharpie. Could you cross out the '4' in "I got 4 dates out of this…" on my jersey? Well, actually, just cross out the whole thing. Just write…"I'm getting a fiancé out of this…" instead_." Don't give me that look woman_. Don't act like you don't see the chaos in front of us.

"Thaaaank you." Now, it's my turn. "Could you turn around and hand me the sharpie, please?" I write, "I'm marrying Eric!" on the back of her jersey. Phase 1 complete. I wonder how many children she'll agree to.

* * *

><p>The sound of steel hitting steel is a unique sound. A sword hitting a steel helmet is another unique sound. A steel sword hitting an idiot's flesh and bone…a very, very unique sound. This sound 99.9% of the time is followed by a scream…another unique sound. And the roar of the crowd and of the lions while hearing these screams as metal crashes together equals a lovely state of disturbia. Yep, no craft show here. I couldn't find a quilt or a needle point pillow to save my life right now.<p>

I don't see a police officer or hear sirens in the distance. The local fire department appears to be a no show. Unless the EMTs are dressed up like one of these toga fools, they didn't get the invite either. But these two idiots…pardon me…'Gladiators' don't seem fazed by the lack of medical personnel. They just keep swinging, hitting, jumping, yelling and spitting. Personally, I would not be expelling any necessary fluids if I were them. No one is going to start an IV drip on your ass when you drop.

"Those crazy fuckers are really going to kill each other!" Yep, looks like it, Laf.

"My screwdriver wound doesn't seem so bad anymore." See, Clancy. Things could always be worse.

"I wonder if they received a tetanus shot beforehand." Appius, I think they might appreciate a serious infection over immediate death. But we all have different priorities so who knows.

"Had I known of the festivities, I would have brought my toolbox. I screwdriver to the testicles would go unnoticed at this point. I could have really used the practice. I didn't manage to do much damage that first day of training. I think I'm getting rusty." I don't even know what to say to that comment.

"Well, I don't think it will last much longer. That one guy looks like his arm is starting to dangle a little from the shoulder. Maybe a quick slice or a tug by one of the lions should do the trick. Cauterize it with one of the swords, suture it up, antibiotic ointment, bandage, and daily doses of multiple antibiotics and pain medication and he's all good." Someone has been watching House, MD too much.

"Doogie Howser, I mean Stan, his nail isn't breaking…he didn't puncture his left ball…it's an appendage. I'm not a doctor, and I only play one with Sookie, but I think most would consider this situation a life threatening injury in need of more than just a bandage."

"Yeah, you're probably right, Eric." _Probably?_ Hasn't he seen Jaws? Didn't he see the amount of blood that would spray into the air when that psycho shark chomped on someone's limb?

* * *

><p>If you had told me that 30 minutes into stepping into this building I would witness an arm flying through the air as a lion jumped 10 feet into the air to catch it in its mouth, I would have kicked you in the balls and back-handed you. I would have repeated the process until you came to your senses. Now, I guess I can just mark that off my bucket list, and add it to things to discuss with my therapist.<p>

As Gladiator 1 sliced up Gladiator 2's shoulder, a Friday the 13th worthy spray of red substance shot up in the arena like the fountain show at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. For a brief second all went deathly quiet. Not one sound was heard. As I looked to Bill's box seat slash stage slash throne area, the crowd erupted in screams and yells of appreciation; I saw one of the spider monkeys closest to Bill choke on a grape. Yes, even the fucking monkeys knew this shit was fucked up beyond fucked up.

"Moose. Moose? Moose! What's wrong? Oh my god, something is wrong with Moose!" Billed screamed.

_He named the spider monkey Moose?_

Oh, for the love of all that's holy, don't freaking bust out the dick bottle! Leave the critter his dignity. Don't try to make him drink from a penis.

"Is there a Vet in the building?"

"Bill, you dumbass, he's choking on a grape!" I yell. I hope the monkey bites him.

Oh, look. There's the EMT. Huh? I guess one of them did get the memo.

"Step aside Mr. Compton. I'm a professional." Okay, is it me or is no one concerned about the dude missing a limb? There is an 800 pound wild cat that is currently playing with his arm. And everyone is watching a little spider monkey choke on a grape. Fuck! Even the other little monkeys are watching the lion.

"Mr. Compton, how large was the grape?" Does it fucking matter? It's a grape, not rock. You can squish a grape.

"Never mind. I'm going to do the Heimlich Maneuver! Clear the area! Everyone stand back." One, is it wise for a 6ft, possible 250lb man, to perform this maneuver on a 3 pound monkey? Two, if a group of spider monkeys looks at you like you're the biggest fucking idiot on the planet, does that mean something is very wrong with this individual? And three, why doesn't someone just tap on the monkeys back?

The EMT places his pinky fingers under the monkey's rib cage while he holds the critter to his own face for leverage as he presses down on its chest. The grape launches out like a bottle rocket and into Bill's gaping mouth. Have you ever tried to laugh as you make a face of disgust? It's messy.

As the crowd cheers, Moose turns around to slap the EMT. My day is complete now. _Laughing._ You have to love spider monkeys.

* * *

><p>"Well, shit! How the hell am I supposed to get my arm back? It's never going fit back on the same way." <em>Really? <em>That's your main concern at the moment? Getting your mauled limb back from the lion? Not, I need to go to the hospital. Not, can someone put the fucking lion in a cage? Not, does someone have a tranquilizer gun? Not, is there a lawyer in the building? No shit, it's not going to 'fit' the same way.

"I apologize, Mr. Franklin. I'll pay for a new one." He didn't misplace his shoes. His arm was sliced off.

"Thank you. It's probably for the best. All this red syrup ruined the metal attachments anyway."

What? Get a new one? It's a prosthetic? They were acting?

I'm not sure whether I should feel betrayed, relieved or disappointed.

"Thank you everyone. Let's give our stuntmen a round of applause!" Bill announces to the audience.

"We will have a brief intermission while the arena floor is prepared for the start of our Dodgeball Tournament. Please visit our merchandise store. Our specially designed grip bottles are now on sale!" I'm thinking this circus show might not be that bad after all.

* * *

><p>"OMG! Those must be the other four teams." Holy shit! This day gets better and better.<p>

Stan and Clancy spit out their water. Pam takes out her phone to take pictures. Laf and Sookie are in shock. Appius looks confused…shocker. And I think my side is starting to hurt again. This is going to be classic!

**A/N That sentence in the beginning of this chapter about being on a fishing boat in the middle of a storm…true story (actually most of the beginning is true LOL). Deep sea fishing in a storm in a bitch. And there is no amount of Dramamine on Earth that will save you. By the end of our trip, there were 30 passengers lying on the floor, limps on top of limps. It looked like a massacre without the blood. No one cared who they collapsed on. You couldn't stand anyway. One lonely mother chicken kept fishing so we had to stay out. But we were all so sick, we couldn't push him overboard even if we tried. We must have looked like death warmed over because when we got back to the dock, the next group was too damn scared to get on the boat after us. LOL**

**Thanks again for reading, reviewing, alerting and favs.**

**TMart**


	6. Meeting the Teams

**I'm baaaaack! Sorry it's been awhile. Nothing tragic, I've just been busy…same old, same old. Partied like a rock star with my family over the holidays. We had the Kool-Aid and Capri-Sun free flowing. I taught my kids how to play poker using Skittles and poker chips. It was wonderful. **

**Oh, but I do have wonderful news…wait for it…my insane story was nominated for an award by the Fangreaders. Yes, "Jump On It" was nominated for the Jason Stackhouse Award – Best Comedy Fanfic. So cast your vote at:** hhtp (:)/ bit (dot)ly /VoteFangies - minus the spaces

**Vote for your favorite SVM and TR stories, preferable include this story in your vote…hint, hint…I'm just saying. All the stories nominated in each category are amazing, and will make casting your vote extremely difficult. Please take the time to visit the Fangreaders Community website and explore the numerous topics of discussion and reading.**

**Now, let's get back to the show.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. They will not return my calls. So rude.**

"**My eyes! My eyes!"**

* * *

><p>At this very moment in time, the planets aligned, the clouds parted to let the Sun shine bright, the new season of Psych rocked as usual, and today was turning out to be my Christmas and birthday rolled into one. Who knew socially disturbing could be so sweet. Honestly, given what I've witnessed in the last hour, my current level of disturbing would be another man's level of psychiatric worthy admittance. But, oh well, to each their own.<p>

I don't necessarily consider myself to be a philosophical individual. I did attempt to take a philosophy course in college. Sadly, I dropped it after two weeks. Four douches decided to make an epic failed attempt to demonstrate their various brain cell volumes. For the life of me, I can't remember what the fuck they philosophized (I'm not even sure if this is a real word, if not, it should be) over. However, the subject matter was contained within the first page of our assigned reading for the course. They yakked and yakked for days and days about the same damn thing. I kept reviewing the chapter thinking I missed something. Was this the manner in which philosophy courses transpired? As the days progressed, it became evidently clear that those fuckers couldn't come up with an intelligent, collective thought even if their balls were at stake. And what was more disgusting, the damn professor didn't say thing. No…"let's move on so no one riots." No…"that's the stupidest fucking comment I've ever heard in all my years of teaching." No…"will you just shut the fuck up you cocksucker?" Two weeks. Two weeks of my life lost to words that cannot even be described as chit chat. No one should be subjected to that kind of torture. Water torture? Pst. Whatever. Take that course for two weeks and you'd hand over your government and mother to get out of it. So, I dropped the course and found my first pre-law class. Image my delight when I discovered I could openly argue with semi-rational people. Good times. **(A/N That whole paragraph was a true story. I graduated from college in '96 and that shit still haunts me.)**

Anyways, I consider myself to have a rather simplistic approach to life. Basically, just use some common sense. I mean, if you're contemplating performing some action that could, 99% of the time, be considered a Wile E. Coyote move, don't do it. A dumbass action leads to a fucked up result. I'm certain some law of physics exists for this scenario. Everyone has some degree of common sense, so use it.

I'm only flashed this little tid bit of personal reflection because I've managed to completely forget this ingenious concept over the last 6 days. Common sense? What common sense? We don't need no stinking common sense? Common sense left the building a week ago. I hope to see you soon. Perhaps after a few therapy sessions?

Well, it looks like the group in front of me didn't get the memo either. In fact, they didn't get invited to the meeting. Truthfully, they probably were not aware of the concept to begin with. These four teams in front of us managed to murder and dismember their common sense like a PSMing Vlad the Impaler with no Midol in sight. These guys are a mental asylum's wet dream.

I can't wait to meet them!

* * *

><p>"You must be one of the other teams scheduled to participate in the tournament," said an elderly man in a green basketball uniform.<p>

Well, we are wearing these "Pam's Bitches" uniforms, so we could be mistaken for new parolees. So, I think we'll let that comment slide.

"You're correct. These are my bitches." Thank you, Pam. In retrospect, I should have put up a better fight against our team name. I didn't fully realize the capacity to which it could be used against us. Oh and thanks for the dog collars, Pammy. That was a nice surprise addition to our negotiated uniform attire. Bon voyage my last shred of pride. I hear you're vacationing with common sense. Make sure you come back with extra doses of Xanax.

Waving her hand across the crowd, "Who might you be?"

"We're 'Greener Pastures'," said the elderly man. "We're from the nursing home a few blocks up the street." That explains the green uniforms and walkers with bright pink tennis balls. Dear Lord, please don't let us play them. They might have some forward mobility issues, as well as moving in any direction quickly. It would be like kicking your Grandparents' ass. We'd get struck my lightening for that one.

Standing next to the geriatric punch are 6 of the biggest motherfuckers I've ever seen. Did WWE donate a team? Clad in black briefs (or wrestling bottoms but they still look like you're wearing underwear, I'm not going to say shit), black wrestling boots, black t-shirts and covered in tats.

"What is your team name, sweet cheeks?" Holy shit, Pam!

" 'We're Meaty!' " Oh. My. God. So, so many ways to spin that team name. All of which would land me a long stay at the Hotel Hospital. A little more that I originally planned. I'll pass.

"I bet you are. I bet you like it too." They wouldn't hit a woman would they? And why do they keep staring at our team name?

"How about you little guys? What flips your Happy Meals?" If you don't call them midgets but manage to insult them anyways, does it still count?

"We are 'The Vulcan-Oompas'. We consider ourselves a radical right wing faction of the Oompa Loompas. We also favor all Dr. Spock related matters, thus our blue uniforms." Wow. That explains the ears. For a minute there, I thought there was some genetic issue that needed to be addressed. But now I get the uniform…Star Trek emblem on the front and the midget holding an oozie on the back. It's just a slight Spock hero worship with a side of violence. Spock did need to man up, he was sporting a case of pussy. Yeah, I get it.

"Eric has an appointment with a therapist next week. Would you like the number? They might have a group discount rate. It wouldn't hurt to try." Blank faces there, Pam. It's like one of those Mexican stand-offs alla John Wayne. Scary.

Now this last group has me a bit confused. They're wearing what appear to be black ninja uniforms with sunglasses. However, they are all holding support canes. They're blind? Is this going to be like a Karate Kid kind of thing? Is it just me who's starting to get concerned about some of the participants? It's already been demonstrated that there is a severe lack of qualified medical personnel in the building. Maybe the spider monkeys could help out.

"What about Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? Are you doing a Bruce Lee tribute?" I wonder if Guinness has a record for the number of insults given in 30 minute time frame? If they do, Pam has a real shot at it.

"We might be blind but we're still dangerous. And just because we're blind, don't count us out, we're still fast. Thus our team name…'We Can Still Hear You'." Fuckers started busting out some serious Jet Li moves! They could slap Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker before you could say 'Rush Hour'.

Mid move, one of the ninjas comes to a complete stop. Did he pull something? Did he sense evil? Do we need to scatter and make a run for it? Are the fucking lions loose? They're probably looking for real meat now. I hope someone fed them.

"くそ！私は鉄のシェフを記録するの忘れた!" (Shit! I forgot to record Iron Chef!)

Uh oh. Someone is in trouble. That got everyone's attention.

"畜生！それはあなたが今朝しなければならなかった一つのことだった。" (Damn It! It was the one thing you had to do this morning.)

"あなたがいることを嫌いではありません？私もそれを記録するの忘れた！" (Don't you hate that? I forgot to record it too!)

"What?" Why is everyone staring at me? "Rosetta Stone. That shit really works. No lie." I got skills, thank you very much! "I don't like subtitles. It's distracting when I'm watching them battle." Sookie just rolled her eyes at me. Don't be jealous, Wife. I learned another language for you. I know you like it when I speak Italian. You naughty freak.

"Do you remember the octopus battle between Sakai and Ohta?" I finally have met people who appreciate the fine art of the knife and saucepan. I have found my brethren. It really must be my birthday.

"Ninja One, the sturgeon battle between Chen and Asou was fucking awesome!" I was yelling like a mad man when I watched it.

"It wasn't as epic as the 1999 King of Iron Chefs battle between Chen and Sakai." We all nod our heads in approval.

"Very true Ninja Three. Very true indeed." Those were some good times.

"As fascinating and mind numbing as this discussion is, I've managed to find out who is going to play in the first two games. It appears that 'We're Meaty!' will play against 'We Can Still Hear You!'." Pam, we're going to need popcorn and beer for these games.

"Are you sure you still want to be referenced as meaty?" Pam, are you sure you still have a death wish? God, this woman is insane.

"The second game will be between 'Greener Pastures' and 'The Vulcan-Midgets'. Oops, I mean Oompas." They'll probably slash her tires and steal her tool box.

"We'll send them to a greener pasture. This should be like taking candy from an invalid. It'll be easy." Cocky little ankle biters.

"Fuck you and the tricycle you came in on!" Grandpa my ass! Moses is ready kick a little shorty.

"Why don't you say Hello to my little friend?" "The Godfather"…explains their violent tendencies.

"Oh yeah? Suck me wrinkled dick!" And now I feel sick. You had me until that last sentence. Now that's one graphic imagine.

See. Now how in the hell am I going to explain this mess to the therapist? Dear God, my therapist is going to think I'm insane. You write this shit! **(A/N You might be able to…maybe.)**

What the hell are my team mates staring at? Apparently the elderly and midgets yelling at one another isn't a rare enough occurrence for them.

Why do I keep thinking that nothing else can shock me? Clearly, I'm delusional. I should rephrase that…I'm in denial. How can so many freaks of society congregate in such close proximity to one another? Isn't that a code violation of some sort?

"Those two people are the commentators? Sweet Jesus! Where the hell did they get these guys? My eyes! My eyes!"

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><p><strong>AN I hoped you enjoyed meeting the other teams. We'll get a peek at Bill's uniforms soon. Should be lovely.**

**I appreciate everyone following the story, taking time to review and adding it as a favorite. Thanks a bunch.**

**Please don't forget to vote for your favorite stories in The Fangreaders Awards.**

**Until next time,**

**TMart**


	7. Hello Everyone

**Hello everyone –**

**I planned on taking this story to about 10 chapters. However, I was wondering if anyone had any requests for outtakes.**

**Keep in mind I still need to introduce Bill's team uniform and suaveness, the commentators, a few matches, and the final showdown. The first two events listed will make you want to vomit in your mouth. Gross.**

**Barring that in mind, I'm open for suggestions, or if anyone has suggestions for a future story. One viewer mention Zoolander, I have yet to watch it, but considering it has some of the same actors, I'll invest the time.**

**Once again, thanks for reading.**

**TMart**


	8. Tournament Part 3

**A/N Hello everyone, I hope everyone is having a good new year thus far. I thought I'd start off with another short story involving my kids. I'm sure everyone is familiar with the movie, The Mummy. One particular scene my kids chose to re-enact one evening and it turned out to be the funniest 20 seconds.**

**This scene involves the good guys being surrounded by zombies in the middle of a plaza square. As you may recall, the zombies had a name they kept chanting. My kids didn't get that memo. I walked by them in the living room as my kids started chanting along with the zombies what they thought was said. So they chanted…"Hijole. Hijole. Hijole." Instead of, "Imhotep. Imhotep. Imhotep." I laughed for a while after that one. I love those monkeys.**

**But anyways, here is the next chapter involving our favorite characters in the dodgeball tournament.**

**Disclaimer: God knows I've tried but I still don't own a thing. The spoils of this war belong to Harris, In Living Color and Austin Powers people.**

**The freaks come out at night…well, actually all day long in this case.**

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><p>"Jesus Christ! How the fuck are we supposed to concentrate with these fucking freaks in our line of sight?" Now, this question goes out to anyone because I'm just not that picky anymore. "Where the fuck did Bill get these people? Is there some 1-800-GET-AFREAK hotline? Is there a website that employs these nut cases for special events? Is being a freak with questionable to zero sanity a recognized occupation by the IRS? Please tell me some of you are thinking these questions, and I happen to be the only vocalizing my concerns? Please?"<p>

"No. I'm right there with you. I'm just in shock." Thank you my WIFE. Is this stupid tournament over yet? I'm ready to get married. I think 3 children sounds like a good number. One word…HONEYMOON! How long does it take to plan a wedding anyway? Like a couple of weeks? Vegas?

Now, I understand. I completely understand why so many people have decided to converge into this abyss of hell…or arena…whatever you want to call it. No matter whether your drug of choice is illegal or experimental, whether you can walk a straight line or not, if your gene pool is very tiny with larvae filled water, or even if the woman in your life is also your best friend/ mother/ girlfriend/cousin…you can walk freely in this building and no one would be the wiser. And that shit just scares the fuck out of me. I really hope most of these people are from out of town.

"I knew I should have worn my utility belt! Damn it!" She's a sick, sick woman.

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><p>Just then, the lights go out throughout the whole arena. "Yeah, let's turn out the lights with all the crazy people in the building and the wild animals. That sounds like a great idea." The Star Wars theme music begins to blare as a spotlight shines onto Bill's box seat and a dramatic lightshow begins. Who's going to die now?<p>

The next moment, 6 spider monkeys propel themselves from the ceiling of the arena to the box seat area. This is going to be fucking awesome! I think they're dressed like Star Wars characters. Forget the freaks…Star Wars monkeys are in battle. I wonder if they will re-enact the scene where Luke's loses his hand. That's a good one.

"Freaking Moose is Darth Vader. It looks like The Dark Side is nicely represented by The Emperor and a Storm Trooper, as well. Yoda, Luke Skywalker and Chewbacca are the line-up for The Republic. Very interesting, hopefully an even match."

"Look at monkey Chewbacca. He's so cute. And that baby Darth Vader is adorable."

"Sookie, I believe they're going for a menacing vibe."

"How the hell can spider monkeys dressed in Star Wars costumes with baby lightsabers be menacing in any way? It's the cutest thing I've ever seen." Silly woman, wait until you see our babies.

"Holy shit! These monkeys are really going to this. They're going to fight alla Jedi style! Where's the kettle corn, Eric?"

"Of course they're going to fight, Stan. Vader just insulted Yoda."

"Look at them go! Luke, that's your father!" Laf, this isn't exactly a featherweight boxing fight we're witnessing here. The man is going to blow a vessel.

"The Emperor just smacked Yoda upside the head!"

"Oh my god, Clancy! Get up Yoda! Chewbacca get your hairy ass over there and help Yoda for Godsake!" So apparently spider monkeys saber fighting will bring the ass kicker out of Appius, but a ball to his sack, not so much. That's too confusing.

"Master Yoda, kick that wrinkled old monkey's ass!" Didn't these guys see The Star Wars Trilogy? Nobody messes with Yoda. That's Star Wars 101.

"There are no wrestling moves in Star Wars. Right, Eric? I don't remember Vader bodyslamming Luke."

"Sookie, this is turning into a smackdown. We're talking cage fight shit." Oh no. Not the idiot EMT guy? Is he really going to do what I think he is? Oh for the love of all that's holy, he can't seriously think he can stop this monkey brawl? Some people never learn…Darwinism. He still has the little monkey paw print on his face. Why come back for seconds? It's just a bunch of tiny critters letting off a little tension. Who the hell are they going to hurt…besides dumbass?

"You little monkeys, I'm tired of your sassing. Now stop your fussing and behave." Oh yeah, genius.

SMACK!

SMACK! SMACK!

SMACK!

"Kick his ass Vader!"

"AAAAGH!"

SMACK!

RAWWWW!

I didn't realize spider monkeys had a Viking battle cry. Who knew? Oh here comes the announcer guy. Yeah, I think it's time to change the spotlight to the stage floor. Leave the monkeys a little privacy. Looks like they're going to drag that guy outside and settle their shit. If William Shatner wasn't standing in the center of the dodgeball court, I'd be outside in a heartbeat.

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><p>"Good afternoon ladies and gentleman! I'd like to welcome everyone to the first annual Louisiana Area Dodgeball Tournament. I'm William Shatner and I'll be your announcer for the tournament. I'd like to introduce you to your commentators for this tournament…Quinn "The Big Tiger" Jones and Alcide "Papa Bear" Smith."<p>

Wow. There are no words to express how epically disturbing watching these two men walk to their booth is affecting my brain. First, I think they both are allergic to wearing shirts, which really isn't a big deal but the nipple bars and rings are throwing for a loop. Secondly, the bald Quinn guy has on some shiny purple, gypsy MC Hammer pants, purple elf shoes, tiny black vest and fucking tiny ass black monkey top hat. His partner is just as fucked up. Papa Bear is sporting some way too tight black dress slacks, red suspenders and a black bow tie. This scene is taking me back to In Living Color's Men In Film sketches. If they start snapping their fingers in a Z and "It's Raining Men" starts playing on the loud speakers, I'm going to lose it. This shit is so bizarre it's great. Are they wearing lip gloss? At the rate this is going, I half expect Wanda to come running out onto the court. Although I'd really hope "Fire Marshall Bill at The Magic Show" would make an appearance instead.

"Those two guys look like the movie critics from In Living Color. The bald guy even has a tiny monkey top hat." You got that right, Clancy.

"What's 'In Living Color'?" Sacrilegious, Appius! How…can you…I can't even…oh my God…awful. I take back every sympathetic thought I had when your balls met its maker during training. All of them! Where are the damn screwdrivers? KICK HIM AGAIN, PAM!

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><p>"Thank you gentlemen. Next I'd like to introduce our judges. I don't know how we managed to trap such esteemed judges for our tournament but I'm honored. This man needs no introduction. He put the karate in Karate and the cowboy hat in Texas Ranger…Chuck Norris!" I guess his infomercials aren't doing so well? Maybe blackmail?<p>

"Our next little judge comes straight from the spawn of evil and genius. Let's give a warm welcome to Mini-Me!" I wasn't expecting him. Wow. I wonder if Dr. Evil is in the crowd?

"Our last judge hails from Scotland. He's a kilt wearing beast of gassy burden. What he lacks in manners he makes up in nothing else. We give you…FAT BASTARD!" Jesus H. Christ! He's like Jabba the Hut with limps and a kilt, sort of. That's so fucking gross…which makes it pure genius!

"Hmm, isn't he teeny tiny." Fat Bastard says licking his lips as he smirks. "Baby! It's what's for dinner. Yummm."

"You listen to me you fat fuck!" Mini-Me snarls. "I'm only telling you once. You stay on that side of the table and I won't beat you with your turkey legs." Pointing his stubby little finger at him.

"Now, now little guy, don't get upset. I'll sit between you. We have a tournament to judge."

"Yeah, don't get your pull-up in a bunch. You're a wee bit cranky this early in the day. Do you need a change? Do you have a turtle head poking out? Do you need a titty? I got two." Blowing a kiss to him.

Mini-Me flies out of his high chair, knocking it over, jumps onto Chuck Norris's lap and proceeds to wrap his body around Fat Bastard's head. Chuck Norris attempts to disengage Mini-Me from his head/body lock. Finally, Shatner comes over and tasers Mini-Me in the neck…which in turn sends a volt into Fat Bastard and Chuck Norris. All sorts of God awful noises escape Fat Bastard's body, immediately sending Chuck Norris into a kung-fu frenzy. Luckily Shatner is able to re-tase Norris…and all is momentarily calm.

"Dear God, what died in his colon!" Thanks for the heads up, Clancy. I haven't taken a breath in about a minute. I'm running out of oxygen.

"This is some fucked up shit, even with Chuck Norris as a judge." No kidding Stan. Thanks for stating the obvious.

"Is that really Fat Bastard? Or just a fat bastard in general? Is he wearing a kilt or a plaid tarp?" Laf, I don't even want to speculate on the tarp thing. God knows what he is wearing under that thing.

"I don't know, but he looks like a fat bastard." Always straight to the point, Pam.

"Shit Shatner. You made my ass twitch. I can still feel it puckering."

"Shut it Bastard. Now sit down and behave. Leave the toddler alone and stay on your side of the table."

"Captain Kirk, you burned my neck with your damn taser."

"I'll make you sit by that bastard. So don't tempt me little boy."

"Norris, get it together man. Stop slobbering."

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><p>"Please excuse the technical difficulties, ladies and gentleman. Now where was I? Oh, yes…now you have met the judges let's meet our teams for our round 1 matches. In our first round 1 match, we have the meat heads of WWE…"We're Meaty!". Their competitors are the men in black who see no evil…"We Can Still Hear You!"."<p>

My money is one the blind guys. I wonder if they get to use their sight sticks?

"In our second round 1 match, we have the grateful dead from the nursing home up the street…Greener Pastures. Please be aware that are only EMT has suffered severe injuries due to an earlier altercation involving little fuzzy mammals, so in the event of possible death, please make sure your wills are up to date. Their competitors are ever so slight Vulcan wannabe shorties. Yes, they're violent and no they are not on a leash…"The Vulcan-Oompas"."

"Alright teams. Let's get it on. And let's get ready to ruuuuuubbbbbble!"

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><p><strong>AN Thanks everyone for taking the time to read, review, favorite and alert. I really appreciate it. Let me know if you have any more suggestions or requests for outtakes.**

**Until the next time, **

**TMart**


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